


Play the Game My Way

by MorriganFearn



Series: HSWC Bonus Rounds 2014 [11]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Beforus, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 16:34:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2276856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorriganFearn/pseuds/MorriganFearn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a timeline where SGRUB destroyed all of the Dancestors' computers rather than starting, Aranea decides to institute a group tabletop game night to keep everyone's spirits up. Too bad it turns out that with so many personalities in one room after having braved the end of the world not happening things are a little fractious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Play the Game My Way

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Take your turn](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/72192) by Hoshi_ryo. 



> Done for BR7: Remixes  
> In the poem Meenah is the GM for some strange Beforian SF-Western RPG game, and she don't care. Also, placekitten really exists. Hoshi_ryo and I then got to chatting about how Aranea would care, lots, about being GM, and be terrible at it. This doesn't necessarily happen in the same universe as hoshi_ryo's fill. None of the Dancestors got to play the game, but took most of the steps needed to make the game happen, and most are not dealing well with the the fact that SGRUB didn't happen.

Everyone was feeling down. Aranea wasn't certain why they were feeling down. If anyone had been listening to Mituna last moon cycle, and taking him seriously, which was a ridiculous thing to do now he was as confused as he was, they had apparently survived the end of the world with nary a meteor. Okay, so Meenah's amazing game had turned into an explodey glitchy mess, and Aranea was still trying to get the burns out of her carpet, and figure out what to do until she could get a new computer, but Meenah was back—mostly due to her prodding—and they were all alive and the world was going smoothly as ever.

Besides! She had just had the best idea ever! It was exciting and interesting, and would tax her to the extent of her story telling abilities, but she had been sort of thinking about it for ages, anyway, and she had read some advice online before the explodable computer fiasco—while none of the advice had been specifically useful to her unique situation (mostly about not railroading people into things, and keeping things loose enough for everyone to have fun, which obviously wasn't going to be a problem for _her_ , and everyone said some of these rules could be bent for intricate stories, anyway)—and she had the gamebooks and the maps all sort of ready in her scrapbooking drawer.

She sent out invitations, along with promises to get transportation vouchers for the lower bloods because it was a good cheering cause, and she could certainly get it written off as part of her volunteer culling hours. She had hesitated when sending out Kurloz's invitation. She knew from Mituna and Cronus that his hive was on the inaccessible side, and there was no way she could get culling credit for taking care of him. Without the credit, she would not be extending an offer of free transportation, and they both knew it. It was probable, therefore, that he would see the inherent insincerity of her invitation—not that she was being insincere! Of course not.

If everyone was down, he was just plain miserable that Armageddon hadn't happened. He wasn't even bothering leaving his sarcastic little :o) on her posts about how difficult it was taking care of a lusus like hers, especially when said lusus kept trying to eat her phone, and his .gifs, when they did appear, were all broken. As though he'd deleted the file from the server and then tried to link to it anyway. It was possibly even more awful than his reviews of her stories had been when he typed. So, obviously, she was including _everybody_ in her invitation, because everybody needed Aranea Serket brand care in their life. It was her calling, practically. She was the best culler.

Also, she was mailing the invitations, which was a nice personal touched to the already nice personal blue-as-the-sea cards with the neatly scalloped edges and glittering gold construction paper borders enhanced with glue and liberal doses of her glitter shaker.

The day before she mailed them out, she received an invitation from Latula for a g4m3 n1t3! >:]. Aranea accidentally dropped hers in a fire and then made sure that the emphasis on everyone (except the people who she didn't care if they made it) getting a ride to her place was obvious. Then, as an afterthought, she added a note in Cronus' invitation that everyone was coming, reminders of snacks in Meulin and Rufioh's invites, a polite attempt at East Beforan in Damara's invitation, liberal fish puns and more glitter for Meenah, and, after thinking hard, suggested that _Rainbow Drinker: The Masquerade_ might have been the source of her inspiration in Porrim's. Porrim meant that Kankri would come, for sure, and Horuss never refused an invitation, so she did not have to doctor their invites before tossing them in the post.

Aranea Serket was inviting everyone, seeing as almost no one had gotten their computers back up, and most were either relying on their local libraries, or their phones for chat time now, to a table top RPG night.

Latula was going to be a problem because their game nights _happened_ to share dates. There wasn't much she could do to make sure Latula abandoned her own plans, particularly without a computer to boot up and a conversation to start. Actually, in retrospect, that might be a good thing, as Latula had a way of turning words around that Aranea didn't need to deal with. She decided to imply in Latula's invitation that she needed an experienced GM for her scenario, despite having all the pieces assembled, and she hoped she would have Latula on hand.

The first person to RSVP was Horuss, his text sounding as though he was anticipating an evening full of erotic statuary. Aranea decided that it was probably just Horuss being unfortunately strange in his rather clueless way and did not bother debunking the notion. Texting Horuss could often lead to worse misunderstandings than the original message.

Meulin responded nearly as fast, although she pointed out that it might be very hard on Kurloz to get to Aranea's hive. While Aranea tried to text back to reassure Meulin—and stop the hints Meulin had about successful GMing (what did she know, anyway? Her roleplaying happened entirely online, and in a text based atmosphere where quirk tolerance was more necessary than story telling. Aranea had actually gone out and done research, and her scenario was fascinating), Rufioh called, stammering excuses. Of everyone, he had been the most nervous about the game, and while she had heard his voice on a few telechats, Aranea had never seen him in person. He didn't even take selfies. Everyone took selfies! Meenah had posted selfies from the moon! Damara took selfies, and yet Rufioh had managed to remain a man of mystery, even though they lived together or something. His reticence was vexing.

It might not have been wholly ethical, but Aranea didn't look too closely, or anything. Hers was a gift with responsibilities, after all, and it was her duty to make sure that Rufioh was comfortable with social situations! She changed his mind and he was saying yes in mid sentence. She told him that was wonderful, and she would be expect him and Damara. He had a wonderful voice, Aranea thought when she hung up. It was the right thing to make sure he got out of what ever hideaway he used, for the sake of his social well being, and no matter what he looked like, she would enjoy hearing him speak.

Latula texted to ask if Aranea had gotten the mail yet. Aranea told her no, and Latula came back with a text that very gracefully, apart from and egregious use of 'z's, said sure, she'd love to GM for Aranea's party. She could always put off the game night she had planned for another time. The more people stopped moping about the world not being over, the better, right, girl? Aranea could not have put it better herself.

At the appointed time chips were ready, the game board set up, and Aranea was just arranging the cups, while wondering if her selection of juices and fizzy drinks were enough. Of course they were. And she had diet versions for Meenah, and something slightly tar-like filled with bubbles and stimulants for Latula, who was currently mad for this energy drink, apparently.

The door bell began to ring. Latula arrived first, dragging a slightly battered looking Cronus after her. “I dunno how it happened! I just looked down and bam! He was under my skateboard. Hard breaks dude,” the clap on his back sent him reeling into an armchair, where he looked up from the blue chintzy depths with something like loathing in his large eyes, but didn't say anything. He was thinking it, though. Loudly. With a slightly nasal whine.

Aranea blocked him out, and went to explain exactly how she needed everyone to play to Latula. She was interrupted by the doorbell once more, to greet Kankri and Porrim, both of whom had dressed up rather spiffily for the occasion, but their classes were utterly wrong. “Porrim, what are you supposed to be?” Aranea eyed the hat with trepidation, and wondered if it had been a mistake not to prepare character sheets for everyone.

“Latula called to give us some pointers about the kinds of characters one could play in the type of game you were creating. I'm a dragon master,” Porrim grinned, as she raised what could only be a beastwhip.

“OP!” Latula yelled, laughter high in the back of her throat. “I can't believe you even told me I couldn't be one after I explained the class to you girl. You stole my character!”

“You said that as you were to be the Game Mistress,” Porrim's voice had a way of picking out distasteful words even after she had substituted her own preference, “you were sad that no one would roll up a hardass dragon master. So I am here to fill your every desire.”

“Ooh! Damn you do!

“Pooooooorrim!” Kankri was even more inappropriate. At least Porrim had chosen something vaguely supernatural, as Aranea intended. Her character pick for Kankri had been cleric, figuring that it fit his personality and interests quite well. “Latula is already in a committed relationship. Flirting is possibly the most inappropriate thing you could do, particularly in front of me, as I have told you often enough that I am most put off and made uncomfortable by all types of concupiscent behavior.”

His voice echoed slightly in the armored helmet. Aranea managed to tear her eyes away from the forged monstrosity long enough to actually step aside, but her traitorous mouth had a will of its own: “What kind of priesthood accessorizes with chainmail and spikes?!”

“What do you mean? I'm supposed to be a berzerker. Not that the notion isn't problematic. It is inherently built on ideas of mental illness that characterize the mentally ill as dangerous, merely because they cannot be reasoned with. It would be like my declaring all of those with perforrated irises like yours, Aranea, must be blind prophetesses.”

He clanked past as Aranea tried to blink her way through that minor revelation. Nope. Still didn't make sense, and she had a lingering urge to rap Kankri about his stubby horns. But he couldn't help that he was a little over protected from the world.

Latula was cackling in delight. “No way! Dude, that is _so_ rad! Porrim how much effort did you go into for these costumes? They're brilliant! Next time we're going to all have to come as our characters. You two look great! Gimme five!”

The tight leather fit of Porrim's trousers were certainly an upside, but this was not in Aranea's plans at all! As Kankri protested that he had done a lot of the riveting and mail ring interlocking based upon Porrim's design, Porrim tried to avoid Latula's enthusiasm, and Cronus' offensively suggestive eyebrows, which were crinkling his scars they had lifted so high. At least Latula smartly positioned Kankri in Cronus' general vicinity, and guided Porrim toward the table, with an enthusiastic “Damn, I wish I got your talent with the handy crafts. But here, I got some figurines for placement. Pick one out before you roll up your dragon mas—”

“Ah!” Porrim held up one reproving finger, her eyes slitting into cat-like smugness.

Latula barely missed a beat. “Mistress, if you like.”

“Do you have enough figurines for everyone?” Kankri called, turning his head away from Cronus for a second, which did give the seadweller time to roll his eyes.

“Potentially, yeah,” Latula nodded. “I mean, who knows what our characters will turn out as,” Aranea scowled. _She_ had known, and now was regretting not having given Latula the list. If only she had been less paranoid that Latula would have tried to scuttle the plans. “It's not like I got models for every class, but this is our starter game, you dig? As long as no one is going for something too exotic, we should be covered. And if someone wants necromancer or something I'll whip 'em up a figure for next time.”

Cronus opened his mouth, and Latula dove for the bag, rummaging. “Wait a tic, Cro-bro, I've got that old one of yours I made in here somewhere. Mighty wvizard and all that. Damn, he was a good OC. Remember when we all spent that Perigee's Eve making stuff for our OCs?”

As Aranea remembered, no one had made anything for her characters. She still wasn't certain who had drawn her in the present pool.

“Ah, hey! That's sweet of ya. But, nah, I'm not feelin' the wizard thing right now, you know? I was kinda hopping to play a tank or something like that. Mighty berserker, but,” Cronus glanced at Kankri. “Ah nuts. You did all that metalwork and everything.”

“Why, thank you, but as I understood the rules, there is no limit on the number of a certain kind of class the party might have,” Kankri begn, before his eyes swiveled around. “Does anyone have a rulebook copy? I'd like to borrow it.”

Aranea did not like the sound of that. Kankri with a book in hand could be even worse than Kankri simply looking for a subject to deconstruct. Luckily Cronus interrupted her. “Nah. Sorry. I kinda trashed most of my RPG stuff back when—a while back. Anyway, berserkers got a bunch of crazy limits on them, and it's not great for party dynamics to have two. I'll choose something else.”

“I'm impressed,” Porrim glanced at Cronus consideringly. “You've always hung onto ideas long after everyone else has wanted you to discard them.”

The flat glare sent in Porrim's direction lasted less than a second, and then Cronus was all rayshark-toothed grin and affability. “What can I say, pretty lady? I'm trying to turn over a new leaf. Close brush with death and all that. Did I tell you about how my computer nearly took out my hiveblock?”

“Yes, many times,” Porrim said flatly. “But you said the berserker class has some limitations on it. What about dragon mistress? Is there anything either Kankri or I should know about playing our respective classes? Latula?”

Aranea moaned quietly in the back of her throat, seeing the plans she had spent _weeks_ crafting about to go down the drain. “But who is going to be my cleric, if Kankri is insisting upon this monstrosity?” she murmured.

“Wwwwwwwell,” Cronus whispered huskily, breaking away from the conversation about status modifiers and party balance, “I'm perfectly fine with helping a lady out. Roll me up a set of healer's robes, babe.”

“No,” Aranea snapped. “You're going to be the bard.”

“What?” surprisingly, Cronus seemed actually dismayed. “C'mon Ara, sweet cheeks. What did I do now that has you relegating me to party de-buffer?”

Aranea wasn't quite sure what that meant, but she decided she should be more concerned by the sharp look that was beaming over the rims of Latula's glasses, rather than Cronus' apparent knowledge of character mechanics that might surpass—be more in depth than her own.

Indeed, Latula was frowning: “Look if he wants to roll for cleric, why not? This is all about fun for all of us, right? And this campaign we're working from is filled with lots of basic monsters without any special effects, so we're going to need more healers than buffers—don't make a fluffer pun out of that, Cro-bro. There might be decent peeps listening.”

“I wasn't, but _thanks_. I'm so glad I rate soooooo highly on the Pyrope scale of decency,” there was something almost vicious in his words, but luckily the door bell rang again, and Aranea hurried away, to leave Cronus and Latula to figuring things out on their own.

Aranea never thought she would be glad to see Horuss. To his credit, she also didn't think she would be unhappy to see him. Mostly he was just a very punctual piece of ambulatory furniture in her mind. Useful, but generally part of the scenery. And he had brought her a hostess gift. True, it was an _interestingly_ shaped vase, but it was in her color, and the flowers in it couldn't possibly be mistaken for bone bulges. Aranea smiled delightedly, and thanked him politely.

“No, thank you for inviting me to—”

“Fine! I didn't evvvvven wwwwwwwant to be your bloody bard in the first place! Just because a guy—”

“Snacks are over there,” Aranea said quickly, running back to the living room where Latula and Cronus were nose to nose, shouting.

“That's good, because I didn't want you to be one! We can only take so much terrible singing about how much you want wwwwwwhat ever it is you want this time as poorly disguised roleplaying! This is supposed to be _fun_ for all of us, and you, man, have been the worst pill, the nadir of uncoolness, since we all didn't die!”

“Maybe it was because _someone_ got my hopes up that we were actually going to be doing something really cool for once and you all needed my help as an integral piece, and maybe, for once, something was going to go right and it would all make sense and we'd get some perspectivvvvve back, and maybe even my friends were finally gonna act like my friends again—”

The ringchime sounded from the front hall of the hive once more. Oh no. Please don't let that be Mituna at the door, Aranea thought, as she pushed her way between the two, shoving them both back with calculated application of elbow to thorax. “You two! Please! This is supposed to be about us getting together and _enjoying_ each other's company. Latula, can I trust you to be a good GM? And Cronus, just roll up your character, already, please! If you really want, the nice dice are in the side table. You can be the best bard there is!”

“Whoa,” Porrim breathed, looking over Aranea's shoulder.

“Wow,” Aranea recognized that voice and it was not Mituna's. She felt a familiar thrill run through her from her auricular clots to her spine. Rufioh _really_ had the most lovely voice.

She turned to face Rufio and _woah_. Despite Damara, tall, sharp, and displaying her blood color so boldly that it was impossible to miss, standing right next to him, Rufioh managed to capture all the gaze globes in the room. Aranea's first thought was that she had not been expecting wings at all. Her second thought was that his sweeping horns were unelder godly, illegally, hot. Her third thought was that she was reassigning Horuss from Paladin to who-cared and getting Rufioh to play the part if it killed her. Horuss, trying to delicately place his obscene vase next to her chip bowl had his head so rigidly locked in its half whipped around state that Aranea was suuuuuuuure Zahhak wouldn't object. If he was very good to her plans—

Damara giggled, her hand going over her mouth and sweetness radiating from her face beatifically. Oh. Right. The Matesprit. Aranea just generally had her pegged as a spell caster. Half-fea enchantress sort of fit the bright pictures of magical girls Damara generally reposted. She giggled again, and whispered something in Rufioh's ear. Rufioh blushed. “Dams! Hey all, we didn't mean to interrupt like that. Or at all really. Just, uh, the sign outside said this was the right hive. Um. So, oh hey, chips! Cool.”

Damara drifted toward the table, looking at the board Latula was setting up with interest, and picking up the tiny figurines Latula had brought. “この戦士はとてもかわいいです！彼女は私のようにすべての赤です。私は彼女になることはできますか？”

“Uh, that's my old hemospawn paladin figurine. I haven't busted her out since I last played with Meulin,” Latula was looking lost, but as always was bluffing her way through like a pro. “Um, you can understand what I'm saying right?”

“あなたは、私が理解して信じられないだろう。どの私はあなたに話していないよ理由である。私はより多くの楽しみ、この方法を持っている。”

Aranea wondered if it was legal to sound that cute.

“MOG! You guys all made it! I'm so purr-leased to see you all! See, Tuna-liscious, it was worth getting Kurkitty out of his hive!” Meulin roared from the doorway, bounding in to bestow a crushing hug on Aranea that, marvelous rumblespheres pressing in all the right places or no, nearly broke her vertebrate husk.

Oh. Sigh. Well, it sounded as though the uninviting invitation had _almost_ worked. “Can I—ooh, Meulin, MY THORAX IS CRACKING—get you all something to eat?”

The was snickering from somewhere to the side of the hug, and an insinuation that everyone'd be happy to eat up the prime curvy troll on curvy troll action in a high sing song voice that reminded Aranea bitterly of why she was not particularly fond of Captor's presence without his unfortunate quadrant mate's steadying influence. Mituna wasn't spitting as badly as usual, however, so somewhere beyond the overwhelming olive sweater that was threatening to engulf her world, Kurloz was—

“Kurloz, please stop looming, you're alarming Kankri.”

Looming by the chips. Of course. Aranea should have guessed. He had that unpleasant aspect online, too, sidling up into conversations that hadn't wanted him, and dropping purple smilies to remind everyone that he was there, and reading.

Just beyond the massive fluff of Meulin's hair, Porrim was staring the highblood down with simple exasperation, and crossed arms. Kurloz bounced innocently on the toes of some aggressively purple boots, a smile in place on his stitched mouth, and hands flying in a flashing dance of fingers. Kankri had backed up into Porrim, but was trying to give her a stern talking to.

“He was not! It's extremely offensive to imply that you know another person's feelings like that. You can't speak over me, Porrim!”

And in a precious respite of in rushing air, Meulin let go. “Kurloz says he didn't mean to loom!”

“I'll bet he didn't,” Cronus muttered not quite quietly enough not to draw attention to his rolled eyes from where he was prodding Aranea's prized dice collection. She wondered if she should stop it. Of course, she didn't believe that bad luck was catching, but it was just possible that Cronus Ampora was a contagion that you could catch, if you weren't careful. Look at the way he managed to constantly eel his way onto her guest lists.

Luckily, Meulin didn't catch the movement of his glassy seadweller eyes, and so didn't ask if Cronus had said anything, but continued, interpreting a flurry of hand signals by the clear plastic drinking cups Aranea had laid out. “He was looking to see if there were any sweet elixirs,” there were not. Aranea could see that Kurloz' backpack had one soda right where normal people might carry a water bottle, and she would bet that the backpack itself would slosh in a plasticy manner if jostled. Since she had been betting on him either to not show up, or to bring his own Faygo if he did, she had not gone out of her way to rustle up any on her own account. “But he got distracted by inspecting a fascinating vase Aranea had acquired! May I see—Oh! Well that's unusual!”

“It is a work of _art_ isn't it?” Horuss said. He was still scowling in disapproval—must he look so angry all the time?—but pride was beginning to chime from his tone. “I think it's one of my better attempts at metallurgy, if I do say so.”

“Is it meant to look like muthclebeatht cock or wath that a happy axthident, like the latht time you fondled your hornth?”

Oh no. Even with Kurloz there Mituna was determined to ruin things. Why had she invited him? She could have saved herself twin headaches if—no, Mituna's presence helped to ensnare Latula, which ensured Aranea's supremacy over game night. Still, it was probably better not to wait for whatever awful thing could next come out of the boys. Kankri sounded as though he was going to tell Meulin to stop translating, as it was impinging Kurloz' free expression, and Cronus was not looking happy about the dice rolls he was clearly jinxing.

“Let's start, then!” Aranea said loudly, clapping her hands together.

She probably, she reflected later, should have clarified that as it was everyone's first time playing her game, she had thoughtfully preselected their character types. And she definitely should have made character sheets. Cronus kept on trying not to be a bard. Every time she had managed to convince Kankri that he did not want to be a berserker, Cronus found a new class to try rolling for.

Latula, for some reason, kept asking for straws. Aranea suspected a trebuchet of some kind, possibly to fling some of the chips, was in the works. Also, there was a certain pattern to the questions, Aranea thought, as Latula would ask for a straw, in the most distracting manner, just before Kankri would get back to the history of the berserker warriors as a class, and how despite the many problems he was going to repurpose the role into something more beneficial to the perception of society. Aranea never told Latula where the straws were on principal.

Meulin was flat out refusing to be an archsage, or a ranger, both acceptable and enjoyable classes given her interests in wildlife and stories about witches familiar lusi, Aranea had thought. “Oh purr-lease. I've got too many cat-acters like that running in my other games. I want to do something really diffurrent. I was thinking Alchemist—”

“Mituna needs to be the Alchemist! It will give him something useful to do for the whole party!”

“—But Alchemist is a furry throwaway class for characters you can only use in towns,” Meulin continued right over Aranea, but there was a light in her bright eyes suggesting that purrhaps she had read Aranea's lips and guessed the intent. “At least in this fursion. Buuuut I've nefur been a necromancer befur. I think it will be fun! I will reanimate in the name of science, and discofurry!”

“You can't be a necromancer!”

But at this point, Damara burst in excitedly with “Nekomancer! Nekomancer!” and promptly collapsed with Rufioh in gales of laughter.

“The game isn't built for that,” Aranea continued, desperately looking at the markers Latula was assembling on her table. “We don't have any graveyards or anything in the first leg—”

“I dunno,” Cronus growled, shoving away the latest set of dice. Was he going to touch them all?! “You could make a graveyard outta my hopes and dreams for this game.”

Kurloz made a sign that Aranea just knew meant “yes, let's!” The exclamation mark was hiding in his smile.

“Look, you have to be the bard, Cronus! It just suits you.”

“According to the rules,” oh no, Kankri had taken her rulebook from under her very arms.

“Hey, Lady of Spiders, look, you need to get a straw, it's really not cool—”

“Latula, I've got to help Cronus pick his class. If you're that invested in building weapons out of my party utensils, start with the plastic cups. I know it won't tax your imagination too greatly.”

“I don't see why I need your help, you've shot down _every_ idea I've had.”

“I don't want to build anything with the straws! Can't you see that one of your _guests_ —”

“Cronus, there is a list of classes right here. Now, while I am certain Aranea thinks she knows her own game, we can try to find something that plays to your talents—”

Porrim leaned over to whisper in Aranea's ear. “You do go a marvelous shade of blueberry when you're angry, my dear, but if you touch one hair on Kankri's head—”

Rufioh and Horuss were both leaning over Kankri's shoulders now. Aranea wanted to make them all hit themselves, her frustration level was so great. At least Damara, Meulin and Kurloz were passing around Latula's silly figurines around quietly. Now if Aranea could just get Cronus in line, they could begin.

“Oh, heeey, ooh, can I be a mercenary?” Rufioh asked, looking up.

“No, you'd be best in the paladin role.”

“But, um, look doll, I know you got a whole big backstory and stuff. That's your thing, right? And I just don't have the grounding in your gods and all. It's kinda necessary for the paladin to be part of the world, yanno? I was thinkin' regular mercenary on the sort of neutral neutral side would be in order? Nothing remarkable. Just, you know, serviceable enough to get me through a few levels without dying. After he gets killed off, then maybe I'll know enough to be all servant of the gods-y.”

For some reason Damara found that very funny. Maybe it sounded like a pun in East Beforan, or something. Not even Rufioh seemed to understand, though Aranea thought she caught Kurloz fixing Damara with the blackest of glares out of the corner of her eye. But he was all smiles, and digging around in his backpack for some soda when she looked over at him.

It was probably nothing. Besides, Aranea had to stop Cronus from trying to jump all over the paladin role for a third time, saying quite crossly that he couldn't be anything from the list Kankri was prodding him with, if she had already banned it.

“VWESTAL MAIDEN!” He finally shrieked right in her face, his eye twitching. At which point Kankri lit into her for not allowing Cronus his full range of gender expression. Aranea thought she heard Damara's sickeningly sweet giggle more than once amid the flood of words.

Porrim had been jollied back into rainbow drinker easily enough, though when that had happened, she passed her bullwhip to Latula, and told the girl to take care of the character they had apparently planned out before hand. The adventure was beginning to take on blood thirsty reptilian undertones, which Aranea couldn't stand, and her avatar of the goddess was getting re-written so that she was under Cronus-the-Vestal-Maiden's control, until Porrim argued that even if Cronus was playing a woman now, he was really bad at it, and his decisions were completely wrong for the sisterhood.

“Also entirely wrong for the plot,” Aranea added in, before the florid violet blush worked itself into the tirade about his feelings and creative endeavors anyone with a lick of sense, _Porrim_ , could see coming from an eon away. “Mituna, _stop_ poking me! What is it?!”

“Have you got any thtrawth?”

“Um, in the basement, maybe? But you're not allowed—”

“Got me a bro here what needz 'em. Jeezth. Not everything ith about me and what I'm allowed!”

Aranea saw Kurloz spinning an unopened bottle of Faygo against the table and shuddered at the idea of the liquid diet running all over his face in a sticky mess while it tried to get past the horrendous stitches. Latula was glaring at her pointedly, as though she could boil off Aranea's skin from the heat alone.

“Yo, A-Girl, why don't you go and _get the straws_. Don't worry about a thing, I'm your GM, and I'll make sure this alright and on track all through out the squid abyss and back, okay?”

By the time Aranea came back, Latula had gotten it _All. Wrong_. Her healer, singular, and the only one with the chance of learning a buff spell, was Kurloz, and she couldn't part him from the small white figurine of “the saintly Frostgreiver” (Latula could not name squat) for love, nor money, nor another apocalypse to cheer up his gloomy ass.

Horuss had been talked into being the high preist, and was getting all of Aranea's canon wrong, and she deeply suspected Mituna had been responsible for that because the phrases Horuss tried to utter went on and on about Doom the way Mituna had done right up until the point his computer exploded. Well, at least Horuss was more coherent, in general, but because he didn't understand the canon, he was more confused in content. He ever dared to ask her for her source books and requested her notes on the universe which would have been flattering but Aranea could see Kankri and Latula practically prick up their ears at that.

Cronus was still making a hash of being a vestal maiden, with Kankri, the “civilized, but only in the sense that did not carry gross colonial connotations that would be deeply offensive to certain unnamed people at the table” berzerker barbarian trying to correct him about vestal maidens' interests in concupiscent acts (“No, but you see, I'm all repressed and stuff, Kan. It's in character!”). Porrim had just collapsed on the table with her arms over her head, and was whispering for someone to please make it _stop_. Aranea suspected that she didn't have a rainbow drinker any more.

Mituna was her paladin. Latula was helping him fashion a sword out of, surprise surprise, guess what had happened as soon as Aranea came back with a package just for Kurloz, straws. Mituna was trying out scriptural tracts about angels and death, when something slammed down on the table and Aranea had a confused memory of a general agonized shout that “It wasn't motherfucking happening. MOTHERFUCKERS DIDN'T EVEN REALIZE. THE GLORIOUS END THEY HAD WORKED AND SACRIFICED FOR WAS NEVER COMING. NEVER SO MUCH AS GOING TO MOTHERFUCKING PASS. They were all motherfucking lost and doomed to no purpose grander than refuse at the bottom of the universe's barrel of motherfucking body parts.” Or something to that effect. She honestly could not remember what had been said by whom in the chaos. Clearly, the stress of the day was getting to her.

Rufioh was a mercenary who was along with the party for money, which didn't seem right, and Damara was apparently a hemospawn gorevicerator, whatever that was, which seemed ridiculously wrong, given the girl's pleasant, quiet disposition, and, on some indefinable level, entirely right. Apparently this hemospawn had a thing for mercenaries, but beyond that, Aranea couldn't tell much.

Aranea herself had been demoted—demoted!—from prophetess of the eight crystaled temple, to a junior grade swordsman, with no special affiliations. Latula shrugged.

“We need the muscle, and I didn't want to step on your creative toes, so I rolled you up something with all the customization options waiting. It is your character, girl! Own it!”

Oh she was. She was going to own it until she was GM. By the end of the day they would all be praising her _genius_.

By the end of the day, Meenah sauntered into the Serket hive with her shellphone in one hand, and her trident in the other. All around the table every single one of her losers was screaming at each other, and Latula and Aranea were in a tug of war over the GM screen. She decided to back away, and not deal with that hot mess until she had loaded up on all the free grub. Shoal what the world hadn't ended? Big flipperin' deal. It wasn't like any of them had actually bereefed in the threat and been invested in it, or anyfin.

It was decided, next time, that if Aranea wanted to GM, she would have to actually be the GM, and not try to GM through Latula. She also was not allowed to preset any characters. However, everyone would play through the game they finally managed to start for one month. Once the law had been laid down, Meenah was fairly sure the clam shuckers could probably make it to the next town or waterever it was they were all supposed to do.


End file.
